You know, the other night I was out running up Ben Bouie here in Helensburgh. It’s a good hill, gets the heart going, clears the head, especially when you’ve got that love for the outdoors like I do. Anyway, I’m making my way along the path in the dark, torch on, when I almost step right on this little frog sitting there like he owns the place.
I stopped and looked down. There he was, a common frog, just perched on the trail, not in a hurry to move. I said to him, “You’re out early, aren’t you? Coming out of hibernation already?” He didn’t jump away right off; he just sat there looking back at me with those big eyes. Right then I decided to call him Losgann. That’s the Gaelic word for frog, simple, fits the Scottish hills, and it stuck.
Now, if you have ever paid attention to these creatures, you know the common frog, Rana temporaria, is about as straightforward as they come. They are brownish or greenish, some dark spots, light underneath, maybe 6 to 10 cm long when full grown. They’re built for jumping, camouflaged just right for our damp ground and heather. Nothing flashy, but they get the job done.
These frogs hibernate when the cold really sets in, late autumn through the worst of winter. They find a spot under a log, in a compost heap, down a burrow, or buried in pond mud where it won’t freeze solid. They can handle some pretty low temperatures, just shut down and wait it out.
But they’re not locked in like that forever. On a mild, wet night, even in February, if the air warms up a bit and there’s rain to make things slippery and easy to move, they wake up. Not all at once, but enough to get them stirring. This one on Ben Bouie must have felt that shift. Maybe the weather had turned milder lately, and he was out wandering, heading toward a pond somewhere to start the next part of the cycle.
Once they’re up and moving, the males head to shallow water first, ponds, lochans, ditches, and start calling. Females follow, eggs get laid in those big jelly clumps you see in spring, hundreds or thousands at a time. Tadpoles come along quickly if it’s warm enough, then grow legs, lose tails, and turn into little froglets by summer. Simple process, reliable, tied right to the weather and the turning of the seasons.
Seeing that frog reminded me how everything out there has its rhythm. The hills, the paths, the creatures, they don’t rush or hype things up. They respond to what’s real ~ temperature, rain, the lengthening days. It’s a quiet thing, but it’s steady. Makes you appreciate being out in it, even when your legs are burning on the climb.
Next time I’m up Ben Bouie, I’ll keep an eye out for Losgann. Maybe say hello if he’s around. If you’re out running or walking and spot a frog on the path this early in the year, take a second, give it a name if you want. It makes the whole thing feel a little more personal.
That’s about it. Just a small encounter on a Scottish hill, but it stuck with me. Keep getting out there, doesn’t stop the good of fresh air and a good path under your feet.
Peter